


To Be Seen

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Wilhuff Tarkin
Kudos: 9





	To Be Seen

There had been blood. Flashing lights, the rush of a crash--there was fire. Armitage could certainly remember the fire.

One did not usually think of fire in space. The vacuum sucked away all such explosions, leaving only the cold sterility of perfect emptiness. Armitage had watched it and considered it for long hours when off-shift. It calmed him. But fire, no, fire was the rage and the hate that burned, fire was loud and screaming and it could not be forgotten.

“These Rebels deserve our full arsenal!” That was Tirock, a brutish aggressive man who was all too familiar with Armitage’s father. It was an unfortunate circumstance, but Armitage did not believe in fate. The man existed: it was up to him to deal with it. “We leverage each cannon at their position, and blast them out of the sky.”

“Which we could do if we knew their position.” A female officer, her hair so shockingly white that it bordered on blue, stood behind her seat, nails tracing against the polished steel. “Tatooine was a failure, Admiral, and we have only scattered communiques to use as reference.”

“And still they earn succor from the pathetic indigents,” said another man, his brow uncreased with the wrinkles of age. He was of Armitage’s age, and part of the rising stars of Empire: Philo? Philostrum? Something of the sort. “The Empire must decide its official position in regards to non-humans and act more decisively.”

“We are military advisers, not politicians.”

“Then perhaps the Emperor should reconsider--”

“It is not for us to advise the Emperor in such a way.” The woman spoke fiercely, eyeing the younger man with an intensity born of fierce, unconditional pride. “And you should watch your tongue, Phinact, before the ICB gets involved.”

“That old bugbear? Zirrum, we  _ are  _ the ICB if and when it matters.” Tirock stood, his movements all too uncoordinated and sloppy. Armitage sneered mentally: the man didn’t have what it took to command. The galaxy was turning. New suns were rising. 

“Our position has always been clear.” Armitage spoke slowly, his head ringing. They’d said he had a concussion, but he’d returned to duty without issue. No one stopped him. That was the beautiful thing. No one stopped him. “We destroy insurrection where it is found. And if it arises again, we destroy it again.”

“Major General Hux, this isn’t as feasible--”

“Then we  _ make  _ it feasible.” He felt so tired: he didn’t have his usual energy. He could feel the eyes of the other seven members of the table eyeing him, watching him with a mixture of surprise and hunger. This was all a pathetic charade, wasn’t it, a plodding useless heap of effort all for  _ nothing _ . This was bureaucracy. 

Armitage stood suddenly, tall enough now to look Zirrum in the eye. The room felt so small, so cramped, and he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t really been in danger. The Rebel attack on his ship had been a limited, puny thing, even if she had been dragged back to the shipyards for repair, and he was no different than usual. Was he?

“Major General--”

“I have had enough of ‘heroes’ and ‘strategies’, Marshal. As the Emperor commands, I will obey. He is the only being with the vision and the strength to see us through this.” It ached in him how much he believed it, and he hated this surge of weakness. The Emperor too was dying, someday, and Armitage knew he would have to seize that moment when it came. But his words made Zirrum study him, and he felt the moderation of discomfort that came when an attractive woman studied him too closely. She reminded him of Tarkin in that moment, and the wave of longing that accompanied the thought nearly made him take his seat again.

“Hux. We don’t have the firepower to simply destroy wantonly, and there are still worlds with resources we can use. It is not so simple.”

“When a cancer is detected, you carve it out.”

“And you subject the body to therapies. The primitive forms would sometimes kill the host before the cancer did. Is that what you propose for our Empire?”

“You’re not  _ listening _ .” Hux balled a fist, refusing to look to Phinact for support. “What kind of Empire do we have if it is pockmarked with rebellion? We only protect our people so long as we secure our boundaries.”

“Major General,” Another woman nodded, glancing at Zirrum briefly. “Our problem is not of policy. It is merely of action.”

“ _ Action _ .” Hux nearly spat, tugging at his collar. “I see precious little action in this room.”

“Better we consider our movements before rushing out half-cocked!”

“And what does that gain us if we never find these rebels?”

The members of the motley meeting all prepared as one, either standing or leaning forward with growing intensity, but a series of chimes from the speaker in the table interrupted them. “The  _ Executrix _ has joined the station in orbit. Please stand by.”

With that simple, soothing statement, everyone in the room froze, and Zirrum was the first to reassert herself. The  _ Executrix  _ meant Grand Moff Tarkin. Grand Moff Tarkin meant the Emperor, distantly, but it also meant that something would be done.

Hux mused, with some modicum of pleasure, that perhaps one of the current occupants of this room would be dead before the week was out.

“Well, it’s not Vader.” Zirrum quipped, and everyone relaxed again. Darth Vader was real enough--everyone had seen him at one point or another--but he’d never personally come to these ships, and Hux knew that his attention was not on the Imperials themselves. Vader was a menace, a being of power, and only those who were worthy of his attention would have anything to fear from him directly. Despite their jeering earlier, the ISB was still the greater concern for the occupants of this room, and Tarkin would be more than willing to research their files.

Without bothering to dismiss himself, Hux removed himself from the table, pacing for the door to exit into the corridor and continue down the hall to his own quarters. He would go through the routines, of course, check on his ship and her crew, but he had greater things to accomplish. With Tarkin here--

He could never anticipate too much, of course. Tarkin could not be predicted.  _ Not yet _ . But Armitage could spend his time well, prepare himself. It was clear that the others would need convincing: perhaps they would listen to his arguments in a paper, organized with the clarity and vision of an official document. It would never be perfect, but it would be more productive than shouting them into submission. Armitage had not yet mastered that skill.

But  _ Tarkin _ . Tarkin would make them understand. Tarkin always knew what to do, what to say. And none of them would dare to resist him. 

+++

Armitage had not yet performed his nightly toilet and was still dressed, boots still on his feet, as he worked at his cramped desk. A major general’s quarters were finely furnished, of course, but stations and ships were not large on space, and so he was tucked into an awkward corner to type out his thoughts on a datapad. If he had had more time for reflection, Armitage Hux might have recognized a certain comforting consistency in these trends in his life: he had never known the pleasures of the Core Worlds, and from the age of seven, his world had consisted of Imperial silver and steel, small quarters and bland rations. There was a strict rigidity that enforced and demanded perfection, and that same rigidity had been built into Armitage Hux down to his very bones. 

He lived and breathed the Empire: to do otherwise would have been treason, but it would have betrayed the fire that burned in his heart, and may well have killed him. 

Armitage knew Phinact moderately well: they were both young, and had their ambition. Both of them realized that it was better to save their energy, bide their time. But Phinact was too willing to wait, Armitage thought. Let the older generals die out in order to take their place. If this engagement with Rebellion took too long, however, Armitage knew that there wouldn’t be time to wait. Armitage was not a patient man. 

A chime came from his door, and he sat up a moment before it slid open, admitting a single figure to his quarters. Armitage did not react externally, but he felt a unique flourish of pleasure blooming in his chest as Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin entered his room, a hand outstretched to trace the ridge of plating along the wall.

“Armitage.” And that word, that single word, could hold so much. It held a father’s warmth, a friend’s congratulations, a lover’s concern. Armitage stood then, almost lunging from his chair with awkward, gangly movements befitting a man five years younger, and smiled faintly to see Tarkin beckoning him onward. “My boy.”

“Governor.” Armitage forced himself to stand straight, matching Tarkin eye-to-eye. They were so near in height, and yet Armitage always forced himself to realize that Tarkin was a smaller man: his shoulders were not quite so broad, his energy honed to a sharper point. Armitage nodded once, waiting until Tarkin reached up to touch his chest with a careful, almost delicate hand.

“You knew I would come see you.” These soft tones of affection--they were so foreign to Tarkin’s nature. Armitage knew that. And yet Tarkin offered them all the same. “It has been a long time.”

“Yes.” Even with that, his voice grew thick in his throat, and Armitage nodded helplessly. “I’m Major-General now.”

“Yes! Yes, you are.” Tarkin smiled, lifting his hand to Armitage’s chin. “It’s good that you’ve come so far.”

“No one listens here.” Armitage took a step forward, feeling his resistance fade as he drew nearer to the Grand Moff. There was that scent, a hint of clean linen and a distant, fading flower… “It’s harder than I realized.”

“But Armitage, you have always overcome those difficult things,” Tarkin tutted, adjusting his arms to draw Armitage closer to him. Armitage never knew how he did it: how he positioned himself, how he presented himself so well to give off that air of amusement and yet gentle contentment. All Artimage knew was that he liked Tarkin’s approval, and yearned for it while he was in Tarkin’s presence.

“I’m sorry that I--” Armitage closed his eyes, unable to move. “I failed. The Rebels crippled my ship.”

“Oh, Armitage.” His voice was so soft, so careful. And yet there was always that edge of strength, the power of the Empire condensed into this man. Tarkin cupped Armitage’s face with both hands, considering him momentarily before guiding him to the bed.

Armitage fell into that embrace, Tarkin’s arms around him as they took their seats. Armitage recovered enough to lift his head, his body responding with warmth to Tarkin’s proximity.

“You always seem to find me, don’t you, right when I’m  _ failing _ \--”

“Trust me, Armitage, if there was another way…” Tarkin stroked Armitage’s cheeks, pulling his skin back to smile at the odd expression. “Someday, perhaps. Someday we might share a ship. But we have this, don’t we, and there will be other times.”

“I need your help.” Armitage whispered, lifting his hands to cover Tarkin’s. “No one believes that the Rebellion is a threat. They aren’t willing to do what needs to be done.”

“No one can agree. Our Empire is a difficult beast.”

“And I cannot  _ make  _ them see, not yet. There is so much yet to do.”

Tarkin hummed to him, stroking Armitage’s face carefully before moving to cup Armitage’s chin again. “You are not worth all this distress. You are more than this bickering.”

“Governor--”

“Hush.” Tarkin emphasized his order by tugging Armitage closer, kissing the tip of his nose. “I have no duties, no responsibilities for the time being. My presence here is merely routine for the next several hours.”

“Routine?” Armitage smiled faintly, moving his hands to begin unfastening his tunic. “There is nothing routine about you, Governor Tarkin.”

“You flatter me.” Tarkin followed Armitage’s hands further, preparing to strip away the Imperial uniforms which still separated them. Tomorrow there would be time enough for the rigor of the meeting. Right now, it would be enough to know that  _ Tarkin _ paid attention. 


End file.
